


Muscle Memory

by Aeos



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gavin in denial is the best, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Rating May Change, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-09 05:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15260310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeos/pseuds/Aeos
Summary: The revolution has come and gone. It swept through the streets of Detroit like a wildfire, pressuring Gavin to rethink his entire perspective on the androids. This, ‘new, intelligent species,’ as President Warren calls them.When Gavin meets those familiar brown eyes after months off of duty, he can’t help but agree with her statement.





	1. Hide

**Author's Note:**

> so, this is my first fic for Detroit, and my first fic in a WHILE. I’ll be trying out some new things style wise and such, but focusing on these two dweebs is the main goal
> 
> chapter wise.. I plan to extend this as much as possible. Flesh everything out n such. I’m shooting for 10 chapters right now, but that’s not set in stone 
> 
> anyways, I’ll stop my rambling. Enjoy!!

He’s been staring at his reflection for a good two minutes now. His face; some amorphous olive-toned blob with hair and eyes. The subtle, forming crease of crow’s feet beside each eye reminding him just how soon replacement is coming for an outdated thing such as himself. 

The word replacement is bitter. Rancid and distasteful. Bitter like a spoiled cherry. Bitter like a prototype forensics android invading his fucking life. 

Gavin turns on the faucet, gathering handful after handful of water to douse his face thoroughly. Then, reaching for the hand towel near the sink -muscle memory, he blots his face dry. 

He meets his own eyes again. His face is flush now. Ruddy, flush, and he fucking hates the look so much that he leaves the bathroom then and there. Gavin’s hand smacks against the wall, flicking the light off on the way out, drenching the house in darkness in the process. 

Yeah. That. 

His previous girlfriends, sparse as they were, had commented on it. Hell, he’d even commented on it from time to time. And Gavin fucking lived it.

Pressing his right hand against the cool surface of the wall next to him, he walks the short distance to his bedroom. Not a single light to guide his way. Only the memory of his house layout, and the stabilizing smoothness of the hall against his fingers and palm.

His fingers meet the doorframe, and one, two, three steps before his outstretched arms land against the bed’s soft covers. Gavin climbs in, feeling the blankets move around him and a loud rumbling pipe up from beside him. He raises a hand, feels soft puffs of air on his digits before a head is roughly pushed into his palm. And Gavin can’t help but huff, lips quirking minutely at the display of affection from his feline companion. 

“Hey Mo.” 

A half-assed croak follows. 

“Not much to say tonight, huh? Yeah, whatever. I’m not in a talking mood ‘nyways,” Gavin replies in turn, scratching the cat’s cheeks and forehead before lowering his arm and relaxing into the softness of the mattress.

As per usual, the cat notices, finding his chest a much more comfortable resting spot than the blankets or bed. Gavin can feel her claws kneading into his stomach, just shy of being painful. Shit.

“Fucking hell… I’ve got work ’n the morning and I haven’t even showered,” Gavin mumbles to Mo. Well, partially to Mo, partially to himself. His companion isn’t exactly listening at this point. If her purrs and half-dazed paw squeezes are enough to go by. Which… they normally are.

”You wouldn’t know that, Mo. You lick your own asshole a good five hours a day,” He mumbles, feeling a yawn escape his lips, “Hmph… maybe more.” He rubs at his eyes, his brows furrowing ever so slightly, “Didn’t I just say I wasn’t in a talking mood?” 

Of course he receives no reply. 

“Yeah, yeah. Goodnight. Freeloadin’ asshole,” Gavin says, an almost warm tone to his voice. He reaches up to pet Mo’s fur for a couple minutes before the motion is too exhausting for his sleep-numbed brain to continue.

As much as Gavin enjoys her company, he thinks he’d rather have someone that could reply back.

Someone he could wrap his arms around; tuck his body against. He wouldn’t mind having a warm dinner to come home to. Wouldn’t mind the private smiles, soft words, and chaste kisses exchanged before he would retire to the couch, put on a basketball game and doze off. 

Just the presence of another. Another body next to his at night. Fingers carding through his hair and gentle, caring whispers by his ear. 

Gavin could come home from a long day of work at the station; a long day filled with far too much death. Far too much of everything. He’d leave it all at the door instead of letting those feelings fester inside him like an infected wound. Dragging him down and turning his days dark; his nights darker. 

Days when all he has is himself and...

Mo has gone silent on top of his chest, the rhythmic purring from earlier having ceased. She must be asleep, Gavin thinks. 

His thoughts shift elsewhere. 

What would she look like? Petite and blonde with a soft body? Or maybe a brunette instead? Gavin wasn’t picky; he never had been. 

How would her hands feel, running through his hair as they laid in bed at night? Clipped fingernails, scratching lightly at his scalp; drawing comforted sighs from Gavin. Her face would be round, jawline strong. Eyes a dark color; brown or hazel depending on the light. 

He shifts slightly, stretching out his arms behind his head and relaxing further into the pillows and mattress. His day-dreaming continues uninterrupted.

Her lips… Would they be thin or full? Gavin finds that he didn’t spend much time thinking this over. Somewhere in the middle seemed good. As for her body… he prefers women of average built and shape. Sculpted and yet soft around the edges. If she were laying on top of him, what would she do? 

Gavin feels something achingly familiar seize in his gut and he instinctively exhales through his teeth, allowing himself a moment to fantasize. 

If not now, then when?

Would she press up against him, teasing him softly with words and touches? He could squeeze her thighs to draw little gasps and whimpers from her plump lips. Gavin knows that he enjoys vocal partners, and let’s his mind to wander further.

Teasing him in a low voice, she’d call him names. Silly ones at first, to rile him up; gain a reaction from Gavin. However, she’d know him. Gavin is impatient as a man and just as much as a partner. 

Her soft lips would close around his ear, drawing noises from his lips as she moves away only to chide, “Detective.” 

And with that image in his mind, that feeling, he’s thinking of Connor. The thought comes completely unannounced and unexpected to Gavin. 

Connor with his equally lithe form, kissable lips. His warm, inviting brown eyes and fingers and- 

Gavin sits up with a start, Mo hastily jumping off of his chest and croaking in protest from the end of the bed. His heart is racing, eyes wide and searching for something in a room pitch black. His fingers tremble as he stands, nearly tripping in his hasty attempt to make it to the bathroom and find some light. 

He doesn’t meet his reflection when Gavin clicks the light switch on. His target is the shower. More specifically, the cold water. 

Gavin strips himself of his remaining clothing, climbing in and immediately hissing at the icy chill the water brings with it. He doesn’t care- won’t care. The coolness of the water around his body calms down his nerves and… whatever the fuck that was, and that’s all Gavin cares about at this point. 

Work tomorrow. Yeah, that. He’d have to face the thing that made him- 

Gavin can’t fucking allow himself to think the words. His tongue is heavy just imagining it. 

He steps out of the shower, grabbing a less-than fresh towel from the rack built into the wall and dries his hair and face. Only then does he allow himself to look in the bathroom mirror. Same olive complexion. Same scar. Same fuckin’ everything.

Gavin places the towel back on the rack; forever to stay in wash-limbo. His tired gaze returns to the reflection staring back at him.

He looks just as old, just as worn out as Gavin feels.

Fuck. He really is done-for.


	2. Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter took so long. life happens ahaha. I'm getting used to workin in present tense and it probably shows! also, finding a reliable beta is difficult!
> 
> but anywhos-- here is chap. 2. expect more in the future!

Mo has been rubbing up against his leg for the past five minutes, chattering and yowling for food in that pitiful voice of hers. He knows it’s his own fault, of course. On a normal day, at the ass-crack of dawn, he’d feed the hungry feline before he fed himself. However, this is not any normal day. It’s his first day back at the station and he’d woken up half an hour after his phone alarm had been set- or hadn’t been set. Gavin set the fuckin’ alarm- he swore he did! Maybe it’s his subconscious willing him to stay home and enjoy life. Away from Fowler’s constant disapproving supervision, Anderson’s ugly fucking mug, and that goddamn android following behind him like a lost mutt.

A brief image from the night prior pops into Gavin’s mind and he shudders in a mixture of both embarrassment and disgust. 

The goofy, baby-faced android with it’s apathetic features makes him clench his fists and grit his teeth painfully- and fuck- if his cat doesn’t shut the hell up he’s- he’s-

Ding.

On the brink of mental collapse, the ping of the coffee-maker chimes out into the apartment space, saving both Mo and Gavin from disaster.

He licks the front of his teeth, hands still shaking like crazy and eyes wild. Mo is mewling and brushing along his bare legs of course, but Gavin finds a warmer emotion when he registers the motions. Forgoing the coffee altogether, he sinks down to the floor, wrapping his arms around the struggling cat in a tight embrace. Mo butts his head, tail flagging in impatience as she attempts to free herself from the crushing hug.

Shit. He hadn’t had an outburst like that in… fucking months. 

“Sorry Mo. I’ll get ya’ breakfast. ‘Kay?” He murmurs, feeling the cat slip free from his arms and trot to the food bowl placed near the doorway of the apartment. 

Rising from his position on the kitchen floor, Gavin follows, grabbing a large bag of cat chow near the bowl and undoing the steel clip from the torn-off top. Using the plastic cup inside the bag, he scoops up some chow and places it in the bowl, watching Mo pig out immediately after.  
Gavin can’t help but smile at that and is reaching out to stroke the fur of the feline’s back. 

Purring starts up, muffled and paused by the loud crunching of food being devoured. 

He’ll drink the coffee, get dressed, and go to the station. Avoid Anderson and the android too.

Gavin thinks that’s how it will happen, at least.

Yeah. He just needs to avoid it. The farther away from that plastic asshole he is, the better.

Moving his hand away from Mo and brushing the loose cat hairs off on his thigh, he walks back to the coffee maker, pouring a generous amount in a mug. An anti-android slogan decorates the front in big, bolded letters.

‘WOULD I BE DRINKING THIS IF I WERE AN ANDROID?’

Which Gavin finds really fucking stupid; considering that certain types of models can, in fact, drink. Or simulate it to an extent. 

Don’t blame him. It was a gift via a friend from the academy. Hell, Gavin can’t even remember the friend’s name anymore. Shows how much of an impression the guy left on him. 

He is taking a sip, watching his digital clock above the oven and thinking over how Captain Fowler is going to serve his ass for being nearly an hour and a half late to work. Roasted? Boiled? Or perhaps grilled and lightly seasoned with a nip of parsley on top. 

It doesn’t take long before the coffee is finished and Gavin is wandering to the bathroom to freshen up. He checks over his face for any more damage than usual. 

Still the same blob of olive skin. His stubble is getting on the wild side, so he’ll need to shave tonight before bed. Same scar, same tired bags under his eyes.

He needs to get dressed.

Turning on the faucet, Gavin cups his hands and splashes his face. And shit, if the cool water doesn’t feel like heaven against his skin. He avoids his own eyes and searches for that same unwashed hand towel. Blots his face dry of any remaining water and returns to his bedroom to change. 

His phone is resting against the floor; where he’d thrown it down haphazardly upon waking. He’ll pick it up later after dressing, Gavin reminds himself silently. 

Bargain-store jeans, socks, and an old and faded, but freshly-washed t-shirt was enough to count as Gavin’s typical choice of wardrobe. He’d set that sort of precedent for himself at the station. Anything less and anything more and the fellas down there would know something was up in an instant.

He goes rummaging in his bottom dresser-drawer for a pair of jeans and finds one in the piles of identical folded stacks. Next, a shirt. Since he’s a detective, he’s free to wear everyday clothing. It’s one of the perks of the job, Gavin thinks. If you sweep all of the shitty stuff under the rug of course. He tucks the pair of jeans under his left arm and makes his way to the closet, finding the first shirt he can. It’s a dark navy blue with a faded out logo of… something graphically designed. It works, and that’s all that Gavin cares about. Once the two items of clothing are under his arms, he moseys back to the bed, setting them down on the uneven sheets. He undresses, balling up his sleep-wear and throwing it in the general direction of the hamper. 

He walks back over to the dresser-drawer, snagging a pair of boxer-briefs and athletic socks. Slipping both items of clothing on, Gavin returns to the bed, dressing himself with the jeans and shirt.

A little name-brand cologne and that was it for Gavin’s daily routine. Out of the bedroom and towards the door, he picks up his shoes, pulling them on and lacing them up. Mo is still hanging around, licking at her mouth for any leftover taste of breakfast. Her big, green eyes stare up at him intelligently as he prepares to leave. Glancing briefly at her, Gavin grabs his jacket on the coat-rack, shrugging it on despite the warm weather today. It was spring, after all. 

He snatches up his badge and keys last and bends down, reaching out to ruffle her back fur with a hand before wishing the cat goodbye.  
She watches him go with a curious look as he exits the apartment. Gavin locks the door, tugging on the knob as a double-check before jogging down the stairs of the complex. 

He nearly runs into his neighbor on the way when she rounds the corner at the bottom of the stairs, hands shooting out to brace himself for impact.

“Fuu-rick!” He spits, correcting his language just barely in time, “Shit- Miss Nicchi, are you- did I hurt you?”

The older, greyed woman in question is startled, clutching a grocery bag to her chest of what looks like toiletries and other miscellaneous items. She looks at Gavin with a shocked gaze and proceeds to yell him, her accents very thick and present, “Yes! You gave me a heart attack Gavin!” 

Before he can speak, Miss Nicchi is jabbing a finger in his face as her eyes sliding to the hand clutching his keys and badge, “Where are you going in such a hurry? It better be work and not some shady place, you hear!”

Gavin doesn’t want to remind her that his work usually includes ‘shady places’ on the daily. Yeah, no, he’d get an even worse ear-chewing from the lady. 

Instead, he settles on nodding , even cracking a polite smile, “‘Course I’m going to work, Miss Nicchi.”

That seems to do the trick, as she’s lowering her hand; huffing in an exaggerated manner, “You know you can call me Agnese! None of that ‘Miss Nicchi’ nonsense!”

Gavin nods again, this time frantically, “Yeah, okay. I’ll do that, but I gotta run-” His eyes slide towards the parking lot. 

Miss Nicchi-’Agnese’ places her hands on her hips, looking irritated, “Am I that bad of company? What’s with this generation and being so impolite?”

Gavin, at this point, is imaging Fowler’s beet-red face, yelling at him for being over an hour late to work. He needs to act fast- and ends up blaming his quick-thinking detective skills later for what he does next.

He grabs Miss Nicchi’s wrinkled hand, holding it for a moment, “I’m sorry Agnese. But I need to go. I’ll make it up to ‘ya. ‘Kay?” 

She is now wide eyed and nods stupidly, leaving an opening for Gavin to take advantage of. He releases her hand immediately and jogs away towards the parking lot hastily. Unlocking his car and stepping into the driver’s seat, Gavin puts in the key, turns on the automated driving, and relaxes back into his seat. He places his badge on his belt and his tired eyes close as he feels the car pick up speed, moving onto the streets and towards the station. Absentmindedly, his right hand reaches towards his jacket pocket. He needs to check the time to see how late he’ll be. Gavin knows he can get away with thirty minutes at the most, considering the fact that Anderson used to show up hours lat-

He pats at his pocket, finding nothing but empty fabric.

Maybe it’s in his jeans?

He shoves his hands in both pockets, front and back, his panic and frustration on increasing as he comes up empty. “What the- fuck?!” Where the hell had he put it? He always had it in his jeans or jacket pocket! From the moment he turned off his alarm and got dressed, he put it-

“Fuckin’ shit!” Gavin snarls into the empty space of the car, kicking the bottom of the dashboard. It was on the fucking floor in his bedroom! Same place it was earlier. He’d reminded himself and yet he’d gone and forgotten it anyways!

He places his head in his hands, taking a few calming breaths to relax himself. It works sometimes for his little ‘outbursts’ and seems to this time around as well. Still, as he gazes back up and out of the window at the passing scenery of downtown Detroit, he feels irritation and unhappiness well up within him. It’s like a snake; coiling uncomfortably tight around his stomach and chest.

Why did this shit only happen to him?

\---

He’s been reaching for this ‘phantom’ phone all fuckin’ morning and afternoon. 

When he’d entered the station and checked in, it was no surprise to Gavin for his presence to go unannounced.

Sure, the pricks noticed him. Eyes would dart his way, recognition lighting up on faces before conversations would resume quickly. But no- he didn’t get any kind of recognition. Or even a celebration like the fucking plastic detective did apparently.

A ‘bot getting a celebration. Connor had gotten a cake and a party at the station a few days prior to Gavin’s arrival. A chocolate cake custom-made with little stylized robots, candles, and everything. And the funniest damn thing to Gavin was the fact that the thing couldn’t even eat it’s cake and blow out the candles. 

What a fucking joke. 

So Gavin is still reaching for his phone as he waits for the coffee machine to sputter out enough caffeine to keep him sane. And still is sorely disappointed when his attempts are fruitless to find it. 

The machine’s trickle stops and Gavin grabs for his cup, two creamers, and turns around, taking it to one of the tables in the break room. Next, he empties the two small containers, grabs a stirring stick at the center of the table, and begins downing his coffee.

He’d really be content to just stay there with his thoughts to himself. Contemplate how terrible things have gotten, y’know? However, life has a way of taking a shit on his wants and likes. Just setting them on fire in a big fuckin’ dumpster.

Now this shit in particular is in the form of a familiar, punchable android holding up a slice of cake next to him. 

It must of snuck up on Gavin. Connor always had been creepily fucking quiet. 

“What the hell do you want?” Gavin asks with as much irritation he can muster up.

And Gavin must be out of practice because the thing just smiles at him sweetly, holding out the cake like it had with the coffee that one time-

“I don’t want any cake. Not from you, fuckin’ hell...”

It tilts its head all puppy-like, “I didn’t bake this, Detective Reed. It was Officer Miller and the efforts of a few others at the stat-“

“God… figures that Miller would do something like that. Ever since robo-jesus spared his ass he’s been kissing your guy’s asses…” Gavin mutters, taking a swig of his coffee. 

“If you are referring to Congressman Markus, then maybe-“

Gavin shoots Connor a look that gets the android to shut its mouth before it can finish the sentence. 

Anywhere from a few seconds to a whole minute passes before Connor speaks again. It sets the plastic plate of cake down on the table next to Gavin as it does. 

“Anyways, I saved some cake for your return, Detective Reed. I hope you enjoy it.”

Gavin glances down at the cake. It’s been in a fridge and the icing is smeared a little. A plastic fork is stabbed right through the center; above the frosted blue letters ‘C-O-N’. 

His eyes return to Connor. It’s staring at him and it’s little blinky-thing is all yellow. 

Does it want him to thank it? 

Before Gavin can dream up a good insult, the android beats him to speaking.

“Welcome back, Gavin. It’s good to have you here.” 

Connor exits the break room just like that, leaving Gavin wide eyed and staring at it’s retreating form.


End file.
